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"Hi, Sophie." I’d met her during Mistletoe Fest. She was friends with Deacon’s daughter Tabby.

"Why'd you make Damon sad?"

“Um…”

Her mother, who was three feet behind her, looked horrified. "Sophie!"

"What?" Sophie demanded. "He is sad. He didn't do the voices."

I frowned. "What voices?"

"When he reads to us at the library." Her little forehead wrinkled. "He always does the dragon voice. And the princess voice. And the mean wizard voice."

My chest tightened. I had a feeling I knew where this was going. And, also, he reads to kids at the library. Come on, how was he real?

"But yesterday he just read the words."

Oh, boy.

"Miss Becky said it was your fault.” She pointed her tiny finger in my direction.

“Miss Becky?”’

“The librarian,” her mom offered.

Right.

“Come on Sophie, let’s leave Miss Mikayla alone.”

“Did you take his happy?" she demanded as her mom ushered her back across the street.

I had no idea how to answer that. Because suddenly I was wondering if I had.

By the time I got back to the ranch, I was still trying to process the emotional battery I’d taken from a bakery owner, a diner owner, a ninety-year-old woman, and a child who still believed in the tooth fairy.

My mom was sitting on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, watching a cooking show.

"You look terrible," she observed as I handed her the cinnamon roll, coffee, and prescription.

"Thanks. You look like a woman who hasn't had to face the town's emotional firing squad."

She muted the television. "What happened?"

I dropped onto the couch beside her. "Apparently, everyone in town hates me."

"Why?"

"Damon."

Her expression changed. Not surprised. Not confused. No, she looked at me as if that made perfect sense. "Ah."

“Seriously, Mom?”

"I didn't say anything."

"You said 'ah.'"

"It's a versatile word."